


Of Feasts And Family

by stevergrsno (noxlunate)



Series: Happy Steve Bingo Fills [23]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alpha Bucky Barnes, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Amputee Bucky Barnes, Family, Fluff, Hair Braiding, Happy Steve Bingo, M/M, Meet-Cute, Omega Steve Rogers, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-28 06:04:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16717787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxlunate/pseuds/stevergrsno
Summary: “Nothing?”He sounds almost… offended? Steve might not know the dude, but he’s pretty sure this random alpha sounds offended that Steve’s plans for Thanksgiving involve Steve, a frozen pizza, and watching the parade on tv.“That’s what I said,” Steve says, squinting at Sam’s list for a moment before grabbing two bags of marshmallows, “What, you’ve never had a nice boring Thanksgiving home alone with some Digorno?”The man makes a horrified noise and softly repeats Steve,“Home. Alone. Digorno,”in the way that people repeat something when they're expecting it to somehow change.In which Steve Rogers meets Bucky Barnes and somehow spends Thanksgiving with him the next day.





	Of Feasts And Family

**Author's Note:**

> My Thanksgiving fic is a day late, BUT HERE IT IS. For the "Last Jar Of Ingredient On Thanksgiving Eve" square for my Happy Steve Bingo!

There is a special sort of hell. The sort of hell reserved for those who have _truly_ done wrong in their lives. The sort of people who must have kicked babies in a past life, or murdered a nun, or something truly terrible that warranted facing this sort of punishment. This hell? This level of torture that Steve is experiencing because he’s a _damn good friend?_ The grocery store on the night before Thanksgiving.

Steve carries his basket, weaving around mothers with their children and other last-minute shoppers as quickly as possible, the aisles filled with the sharp-sour scent of stress and the warm, baked bread smell of _family_ and _home_ wafting off of his fellow shoppers _._ It’s enough to give a person a headache when it’s all crammed into one grocery store.

Steve frowns as he stares down the baking aisle and what looks like a distinct lack of pumpkin and then he spots it. It’s the holy grail for all Steve cares right now, the last can of pumpkin perched on the very top shelf where even Steve has to stretch a little to reach it.

His fingers curve around it just as another hand attempts the same thing, clenching around Steve’s hand for a brief moment before it’s snatched back.

“I need that,” The can interloper says and Steve turns around to face him, can of pumpkin clutched close to his chest like he might have to fight to protect it from an alpha in the baking supplies aisle.

“Sam needs it more,” Steve says, taking in the alpha in front of him. Oh _god,_ he’s _beautiful._ Steve is going to have to fight with a gorgeous alpha in the middle of the grocery store, the night before Thanksgiving, to get Sam his pumpkin so that he can go and woo Carol’s parents with his Mama’s famous pumpkin pie. That’s just what’s going to have to happen.

“Wait you’re not buying it for yourself?” A frown twists up the man’s pretty face and Steve has the sudden and _horrible_ urge to do something weird like faceplant directly into this guy’s admittedly very nice chest.

He looks like one of the alphas in the “ _THE BEST ALPHA FOR YOU”_ quizzes in the magazines he’d had shoved at him while stuck in hospitals and doctors offices as a teenager. The ‘ _rugged, sensitive type.’_ Steve had _always_ gotten the rugged, sensitive type whenever he’d gotten bored enough to do the quizzes. According to teen magazines, these were the types who would build you a cozy house in the woods and were excited to introduce you to their family.

Steve thinks he might like this guy to build him a nice house in the woods. Or maybe even decorate a studio in Brooklyn.

Jesus, Sam’s _right_ when he says Steve’s been single too long.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but it’s for my best friend. It’s his first Thanksgiving with his girlfriend’s family.”

The man makes a sort of sympathetic ‘ahh’ing noise, and then frowns even more, “So what are _you_ doing for Thanksgiving?”

“Nothing,” Steve says as he takes a few steps down the aisle and chucks a jar of nutmeg into his basket. The can of pumpkin he keeps in his hand, not quite trusting that no one will take it in holiday fueled desperation. He’s run into at least a half dozen omegas muttering about how everything needs to be _just right_ and Steve has no desire to get between a stressed out omega and their perfect Thanksgiving.

“ _Nothing?”_ He sounds almost… _offended?_ Steve might not know the dude, but he’s pretty sure this random alpha sounds offended that Steve’s plans for Thanksgiving involve Steve, a frozen pizza, and watching the parade on tv.

“That’s what I said,” Steve says, squinting at Sam’s list for a moment before grabbing two bags of marshmallows, “What, you’ve never had a nice boring Thanksgiving home alone with some Digorno?”

The man makes a horrified noise and softly repeats Steve, “Home. _Alone. Digorno,”_ in the way that people repeat something when they're expecting it to somehow _change._

Steve gets it, he _does._ Family’s a big thing and this guy is radiating the sort of pheromones that scream he’s about ten minutes away from pinning down a mate and having 2.5 kids and a labrador.

It’s not such a bad smell. It’s definitely making Steve’s irrational urge to faceplant even worse. To a guy throwing that sort of stuff out so strongly though, the fact that Steve’s Thanksgiving is going to involve frozen pizza for one instead of a busy house full of pack must sound horrifying.

“ _Digorno. Alone.”_ The guy says again and Steve snorts, patting at the man’s arm. It’s a little bit of a surprise when his hand meets something hard and solid underneath the man’s shirt sleeve. Not _bad._ Just surprising.

“No matter how many times you say it, the answer isn’t gonna change pal.”

He frowns for a moment and doesn’t say anything, leaving Steve to shift awkwardly in the silence and wonder how rude it would be to just walk away.

He’s opening his mouth to make an excuse to do just that when the man seems to decide something, “Let me see your list.”

“What?”

“Let me see your list.”

Steve makes a sort of disbelieving noise in the back of his throat, but he’s curious so he hands over the list from Sam and his pen. Once it’s in his hands the man jots a couple things down and then he’s handing it back to Steve.

“That’s my name, number, and where I’ll be doing Thanksgiving. It’ll be my ma and my sisters, their kids and partners, some cousins, some of my friends, and some of theirs. Basically, it’s just gonna be a giant mess, so you won’t even be the only person there no one really knows. I know this is weird, but if you decide home alone with pizza isn’t doing it for you, we’ll be there.” The man, _Bucky_ according to the paper, taps the list in Steve’s hand and then he’s off.

Steve stares at the list for a long moment before shaking off the weirdness and reminding himself Sam _needs_ the shit he’s getting him.

He’s definitely not going.

 

The morning rolls around and Steve finds himself sat on his couch, drinking a cup of coffee and waiting for the Snoopy float to make an appearance.

He can hear the family the floor above him, laughing and enjoying the day and it makes something in him ache with the memories of Thanksgiving, just him and his ma.

He’s not doing this. He’s _not._

He picks up his phone.

 

“Hello?” The voice is a little soft, a little confused, and Steve can hear what sounds like quite a few different voices there with him.

“Hi. Uh, it’s Steve? From the grocery store? I wouldn’t let you have the pumpkin.”

“Oh! Right! I didn’t think you’d call,” Bucky says, because _of course_ he hadn’t. No one made that sort of offer intending to go through with it. Bucky’d probably just done it to feel like a good person.

“Right, no, of course you didn’t-”

“I’m glad you did,” Bucky interrupts what is sure to be an incredibly graceful exit from this conversation.

“Wait- You are?” Steve feels a little like he’s experienced four different kinds of whiplash in this conversation and also a little like he should be more hesitant in talking to what is essentially a total stranger.

He’s not though, even if he can’t pinpoint exactly why.

“Well, yeah, no one should have to spend the holiday by themself.” And goddamnit, he sounds _too earnest._ Steve’s going to _melt_.

 

An hour and a half, a half dozen pictures of Bucky with his friends and family to prove this isn’t a setup, and one fifteen minute conversation with a seven year old who Steve thinks is possibly Bucky’s niece later Steve shows up at what is apparently the Barnes family home.

The warm looking brownstone is still in Brooklyn, _thank god,_ but a nicer area than Steve lives in, and Steve can hear the sounds of people bustling around inside.

There’s a moment where he stands on the doorstep, debating whether or not he’s going to actually do this, but he can hear the squealing of children and the sound of chatter and he _wants._ Wants to be a part of something that feels like a family even if it’s not his ma and him curled up on the couch, watching stupid movies and eating their weight in grocery store turkey dinner.

He knocks.

 

When the door swings open it’s-

“ _Natasha?”_

“Ooooh you’re the mystery omega.” Natasha sounds _delighted,_ her arm sliding around Steve’s waist as she drags him into the chaos.

“I thought you spent the holiday with family?” Steve asks, curling an arm around Natasha’s shoulders and tugging her into him a little bit as she guides him further into the house.

“I’ve known James since I was six years old. This is family,” Natasha says with a shrug, before shouting, “James, the omega from the grocery store you can’t stop talking about is here!”

“I have a name. A name I know you know _.”_ Steve mutters, and Natasha ignores him with an innocent look.

Bucky appears, serving more as a human jungle gym to the three little girls hanging off of him than anything else.

“Steve, _hi,”_ Bucky says, sounding a little breathless. Though really, who _wouldn’t_ be a little breathless dragging around three kids? One of them is settled on Bucky’s shoulders, another hanging from Bucky’s right arm, and the last one wrapped around his right leg.

“Say hi girls,” Natasha says and all three chorus a “Hi Steve!”

“Uh, hi?” Steve says, rubbing a hand over his neck, feeling a little awkard under the scrutiny of five sets of eyes.

Natasha, bless her, seems to sense this and for once, doesn’t take the chance to make it worse, “C’mon girls, let your Uncle James greet his guest,” She says, reaching up to catch the little girl on Bucky’s shoulders when she more or less leaps down.

Steve’s not exactly knowledgeable about children, but somehow that seems a little dangerous and he finds himself stepping forward like he can catch the kid if something happens.

“James?” Steve asks when Natasha has wrangled all of the children away and he can’t think of anything to actually _say._

“Oh, uh, yeah. Bucky’s just a nickname, but Natasha’s one of the only ones to call me it. She claimed it was undignified when we were like eight, and apparently is stubborn enough to hold onto a twenty year old opinion.”

“Sounds like Natasha.”

“I didn’t know-” Bucky starts, but whatever he’s intending to say gets lost in the arrival of a pair of women. One’s tall, striking with dark hair and bright blue eyes, bearing an incredibly strong resemblance to Bucky. The other smaller and dark skinned, tucked into the taller one’s side.

“So this is the reason we don’t have pumpkin pie,” What Steve’s guessing is Bucky’s sister says, giving Steve a look up and down.

“And this is the reason I don’t bring strangers home,” Bucky says.

“I don’t mind,” Steve says quickly, and finds it’s very much true. This is already better than Thanksgiving alone.

 

It takes what feels like a half hour to get out of the front room so that Bucky can show Steve around and then what feels like _hours_ to actually see the place as they stop for Steve to be introduced to everyone.

The living room is warm and comfortable, one wall a pale brick and the others soft cream, exposed beams making up the ceiling. There are piles of pillows and comfortable blankets, and plants spilling out over the window sills and off of coffee tables and bookshelves. It’s also, and Steve really thinks this is the best part, filled with people that Bucky is forced to introduce Steve to.

The kitchen is equally as homey, filled with the smells of cooking food and happy family. Mrs. Barnes introduces herself with a hug, and Mr. Barnes with a ‘Call me George, son,’ and Steve gets corralled into chopping up vegetables for stuffing while Bucky insists that ‘you can’t make a guest help with this Ma, _Jesus,’_ and Steve insists that he really doesn’t mind and Mrs. Barnes insists that if _any of her children_ could do _their dear mother a favor_ she wouldn’t have to make guests help.

Steve has to duck his head to hide a smile as he listens to the back and forth, but he’s sure by the look on Mrs. Barnes face he’s radiating his happiness even above the smell of turkey.

 

Quite a few people leave after dinner is done, trickling out the door with rounds of hugs and promises to come back next year. Even more people stay however, crowding into the living room to watch _A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving._ It’s crowded, the room filled with more people than should be comfortable, but it’s all the cozier for it, everyone squashed onto couches or settled onto cushions on the floor.

Somehow Steve ends up on one corner of a couch, Bucky on the floor in front of him and one of the little girls from earlier, Sinead, curled into Steve’s side, as comfortable as if she’d known him forever.

The feeling of it quiets some sort of buzzing in Steve that he wasn’t even aware was there.

Sometime after Charlie Brown is replaced with Addams Family Values Steve finds his hands wandering forward, brushing lightly across the top of Bucky’s head. He goes slow, hesitant up until the moment that Bucky huffs out a soft noise in front of him and leans his head back into it.

Steve combs his fingers carefully through Bucky’s hair, pulling it gently from it’s bun and working it apart carefully.

This is one of Steve’s favorite part of _pack,_ he thinks. It’s not even that he doesn’t have _people,_ because he _does_ , but Clint and Sam both have short hair like Steve, Natasha hates anyone at her back, and while Sharon will happily let Steve sit behind her for hours, carefully combing her hair until it’s straight and shiny, she’s out of town more than she’s there.

Steve takes a chance to dip his head forward just a bit, gets a hint of what smells an awful lot like apple shampoo and then sits up straighter as he divides Bucky’s hair into two. He carefully french braids the first half back, Bucky seeming to slowly go lax beneath his hands, and when he’s reached the end Bucky is holding up a hair tie for him to tie off the end.

When he finishes the other side Sinead is sliding into his lap and holding out a handful of hair ties with a very insistent “My turn now.”

 

Later that night after Steve has woken from dozing on the couch in post turkey bliss Bucky leads him outside. Steve’s a little bit tempted to return to the comfort of the Barnes family couch, but he really _does_ need to go home.

“Can I call you sometime?” Bucky asks when they’re on the front step of the Barnes home, saying goodbyes.

“Only if I don’t call you first,” Steve says, feeling a smile spread across his face, feeling soft and warm and pinned beneath Bucky’s smile.

“Oh yeah? Can I ask you on a date sometime then?”

“Only if I don’t ask you first.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come chill with me on [tumblr!](http://stevergrsno.tumblr.com/tagged/my-writing)


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